Pennal Beasely and the Oliphate Scrolls
by LotusFlowerBomb89
Summary: The first 5 chapters of my epic, new fantasy fiction novel, "Pennal Beasely and the Oliphate Scrolls." - Book 1, RISE    Please let me know what you think, all comments are welcome   Don't refrain !     Thanks for reading, enjoy !


**Chapter 1**

It was 1 am in Kensington. At the Red Brick home at the end Rover Boulevard . The Beasely family was fast asleep, resting for the day ahead. Or at least, Mr. and Mrs. Beasely and 11 year old Nis Beasely were fast asleep . But in the cluttered, and dimly lit room, upstairs and down the hall from the rest of the family, behind a thick oak door, a 14 year old Pennal Beasely was wide awake in the privacy of his room studying the night away. Not for the, 8th year exit exams, oratory morning exams, or civil career aptitude testing like the rest of his peers.

You see, Penn was different from the other students at Williamsburg Premiere Academy, what he had in common with them was few and far between. Penn was a genius. A luminary. A virtuoso. He had already passed the exam 2 weeks ago, without even reviewing the course material, even though the nature of the test was cumulative, so the 8th year students at Williamsburg had to study everything they had learned over the past 4 years, which was usually a month long process. The exam itself took most students 6 to 8 hours to complete. Penn finished it in two hours. he was accepted to three of the top five, specialty academies for the gifted, to begin his 9th year of studies. That decision had to made before the end of this school year. That decision was one of the more difficult and taxing for his peers, because it would mean being separated from their long time friends and instructors, and entering a new student body, starting over, as it were.

Penn did not have this problem. After attending Williamsburg for the past 4 years, Penn still hasn't made a single friend. Its not that he was a particularly hard to speak to, or difficult to be around. It was his genius, his academic and intellectual superiority to his classmates, and in some cases to his instructors, that had made his classmates look at him with scorn and jealousy. He made it look so effortless, they thought, not knowing the reason being that it was effortless for Penn. So with the absence of friends, Penn turned to hobbies like thinking games to pass the time. A night like this was typical.

The clock atop his nightstand read 1:35AM, as Penn was studying, instead, for the semifinal tournament position of tactical persuasion convention, a military strategy game, favored by Veterans with high rank in the British Forces, as well as Graduate Students from across the world. They were from all parts of the world, but they shared this one passion. Penn grabbed and inserted a folded up note paper in between pages 234 and 235 of "Practical and Comprehensive Tactical Maneuvering Vol. 5" by H.K. Bennet, and set it down on his night stand.

Rubbing his temples, he had been reading it nonstop for over 8 hours. Penn kept his eyes closed for few more seconds, it felt like he didn't blink for so long, and his eyes were drying out. " Six Sixteen, Eight Forty Two, Ninety Forty Four." Penn recited to himself, it was the ship formation he would use, if confronted with a triangle back spin - A common third round encroachment strategy in Ship Formation Campaigns, one of the competitions featured at the TP3 Convention this week - That he was registered for. It would be Penn's first ever convention, since he just recently met the age requirement for eligibility, you had to be 14 years old to enter the tournament, Penn had just turned 14 years old, about 3 months ago.

After thinking to himself for a few more moments, Penn finally opened his eyes and peered around his room, he let out a groan in exhaustion. It had been 8 long hours, since he stood up, or even looked up for that matter. He swung his lanky legs over his mattress, and leaned forward, sitting upright. His head hung for a moment. Then another. Fatigue was wearing on him. He looked around his room, taking in the sight of this place. It was more than a room, he thought, over the years it had become his sanctuary. His hideaway from the outside world. His own world. On the east side of the room there was a computer set with multiple monitors. There were binders, folders, and scrap paper sprawled across the table and overflowing onto the keyboard, with tiny squiggles of hard to read notes, to do with past games and local tournaments. Tournaments that he planned meticulously for, but could never enter. The floor was covered with text books, strapped study sheets, research documents, and whatever else Penn had been working on in this sanctuary of his. He kept his room like this, because there was in fact a method to this madness, his madness, it would look like a mess to most people, but made complete sense to Penn. Also, because he never had anyone to bring over to the house, not a single peer or neighborhood pal. To make matters worse, Rover Boulevard, sometimes referred to by outsiders as Frumpy Boulevard, or Oldy Boulevard was swamped with the elderly - You see, for whatever reason, this part of town was known for attracting elderly citizens living out their retirements. So there were no young people to be seen or heard of. A person as young as 45, would be an odd site. For some inexplicable reason, his parents thought it would be the perfect place to raise a young family, "Nice and Quite.", he could remember his father remarking on their red brick abode, during the showing, before they moved in.

Penn stood up, walked over to his dresser with the small mirror set on it, stared into it, and took a moment to regard himself. It was about that time in most boys lives, when it felt like your bones were growing so fast, your skin was always trying to catch up. He was lanky, never had much of an appetite, ate when he needed to, and never indulged in food for the sake of taste or convenience. Taller then some, shorter than others. Typical height for 8th year boys. He had on a long sleeve, wool, black and grey striped sweater, and dark twill pants, and mismatched socks. His glasses were old, and attached in the middle with some scotch tape he found in dad's workshop. Downstairs. He leaned closer to the mirror, and ran the middle and pointing fingers on his right hand over his temple above the cheek on the right side of his face. It had been throbbing continuously for what felt like hours. He stroked the temple, hoping this gesture, would compel his bothered veins to subside and return to normal, to no avail. Giving up, he slid the same hand, with all his fingers now, over his head and scalp - running his fingers through his shaggy brown hair. Penn, always found it strange, that his peers at school, could never get over his academic prowess, and rejected all efforts at being socially accepting and inclusive in any way, especially the girls, because after all, he was quite handsome. In a gawky, pre-pubescent kind of way. His eyes flashed a brilliant hazel brown, with strands of green and black worked in. His cheeks bones were visible and tastefully complemented his pronounced chin. The more he grew into his features, the more he began to resemble his father.

The room was dimly lit by only the lamp on the left side of his bed, so he craned his head over, seeing the poor lamp doing its best to light the large room, to no avail. He walked over to the door, dragging his feet, and switched the room light on. Too soon, perhaps, the brightness of the ceiling lights burned Penn's eyes, he threw his left forearm up as quickly as possible to protect his vision from further damage, and knocked himself in the jaw, in his haste.

After squinting back at the light, and adjusting. Penn let out a soft chuckle, to himself. As he slid his hand down to his jaw bone and caressed it gently. He continued dragging his feet, as he walked over to his desk, and peered closely at his calendar. It was the 4th of May. Summer break would begin next Saturday. All that was left on the academic calendar were the exit exams and an end of year commemoration for students with their self-important parents and crowing instructors - It was quite the spectacle and it was voluntary. Penn would not be attending. But in the same week, this week, the 6th of May, was marked in thick dark red marker, it was the day of the tournament, which would be taking place in Mayfair, a 15 minute train ride from Kensington. 2 days. Just 48 hours, until redemption. The prize money for first place was 50,000 Pounds, and Penn was driving for that. This tournament and the prize money meant so much more to Penn, than it did the other participants. It would be liberation. Liberation from this dreary life he had been leading for several years now. This bland, uneventful existence, defined by isolation, and alienation. He hadn't really figured out what he wanted to use it for. Originally, registered for the tourney to test out his skills, but recently Penn had become increasingly exasperated as he began to look at his own life more objectively, now that the work load and constant barrage of course work, exam preparations, and peer reviewed cross examinations had subsided entirely. The free time had forced Penn to realize how desperately isolated he has become, not just from his family, but from the town, school, peers, instructors. Even now, with Summer fast approaching, he couldn't muster the faintest semblance of anticipation, as he had nothing to look forward to. No one to share experiences with. No one to share time with. It was a hole, he had dug himself into. Or maybe it dug itself.

4 years ago, when Penn first began attending Williamsburg, His reaction to his classmates disdain to his outdoing them, academically, had been to shut himself off, and keep to himself isolated - For his own protection. He figured, why should I leave myself open to the repeated looks of silent resentment, when I had never done anything to these people. He moved to the front of the class, and from that semester onward, Penn would sit in the front of all his classrooms, completed his course work diligently and expediently, came first, left first. This behavior eventually created a perception of this cold and detached virtuoso with a superiority complex , and it spread. As word of a genius in their midst, spread across the student body, that first year, with it came a vicious caricature of Penn. One of mute sanctimony. Unfortunately for Penn, it stuck. As he stood in his room, in the silence of his thoughts, Penn grew frustrated, and began rubbing his temples again. Why had they shut me out like that, he thought, he started fuming feeling like an injustice had been commited on him all those years ago. An injustice that had not been corrected or addressed.

"Just 2 days." He muttered to himself, snapping out of that downward spiral of anger. So here he was, finished with Williamsburg. He finished number one, among the 50 top performing students in Kensington's many primary academies. He was always told, that it was quite an accomplishment, and the people who have attained similar academic marks in the past, had gone on to do wonderful and engaging work in the world. But that empty feeling was a persistent little bugger. The more he recalled in detail, just how empty his life outside of homework and class had been, these past 4 years, the satisfaction he once felt with the predictably high marks he would receive every semester, did not endure. He reached over to a dark blue, leather binded folder on his desk, and cracked it open. It was a congratulations note hand written and signed by the Chancellor of the Academic Administration Council of the Greater Kensington area, Ms. Abigail Dresdon - received by only the top five honors students that attended Kensington schools. I remember the excitement and profound satisfaction my parents displayed as they read the passage, earlier that day, that was transcribed on the single sheet of starched wheat colored paper with gold borders, inside the leather bound folder, "It it with great honor , that I congratulate a young Mr. Pennal Beasely.", my dad beamed with his arm around my mother, she was dabbing a handkerchief to her eye, as she began tearing, he continued "...for his extraordinary academic achievements and high marks these several years at Williamsburg Premiere Academy. It shall be regarded as one of Kensingon's golden moments, that we can produce a boy like you, with such awe-inspiring and pride provoking talents. You have proved your capacity in a traditional academic setting, and shall have more freedom and fulfilling pursuits next year, at the post-primary academy for the gifted of your choosing. I urge you, Mr. Beasely, to retain that intellectual curiosity and diligent work ethic that has garnered the enduring respect of your peers and the astonishment of your instructors, it will take you far. Good luck in your future endeavors. Signed graciously, Chancellor Dresdon ...".

With the folder still in his hands, Penn smiled internally at the memory, It was a pleasant moment I suppose, a rare one, but pleasant nonetheless.

I couldn't hold the thought much longer, as my reality began to drown out this one shining moment. Memories of the cold people that attended that institution alongside me, and the apathetic instructors that taught there, and my disengaged parents that were always either too busy or distracted to take an active interest in my life, or even inquire about the reason behind my isolation.

Penn's father, Joseph Beasely, had some justification for his detachment, his work as an on call architectural advisor was demanding and far reaching, so he really never did have time to be home, let alone notice the subtle differences in Penn's day to day life. Penn set the folder back down in its place. He pulled the pencil tray out of a drawer, removed the largest marker he could find, removed the cap, reached over the calendar and circled the 6th of May, again, furiously, shading the already visible red circle. Set the marker back down, without attaching the cap.

Penn made his way back to his bed, crawled into it, under his blanket. With his socks still on. Rolled over to his right side, looking over at the alarm clock, it was 5 minutes before 3AM, he looked back at the calendar, realizing it was now the 5th of May. Penn removed his glasses gingerly, set them on the nightstand, behind the alarm clock. Rolled over to his other side, smiled, and whispered to himself "1 Day.".

**Chapter 2**

The big day had finally arrived, TP3 Tourney in Mayfair, and not a moment too soon. I tend to get anxious, when I over prepare, and am made to wait longer. I packed a small lunch, some study material, and told mum, I was going to a festival being held at Williamsburg for students only, and that it would be a day long affair. She didn't even look up from her Kensington Daily news journal.

The train creaked, as it pulled into the Mayfair Transport Station. I was already at the door, waiting for it to open, ready to pounce, so I could jolt out, to beat the frantic rush of passengers exiting and entering the Train at large stations like this one. I had a small bag, hung over my right shoulder, with just a notebook with my final notes tucked inside and a small tactical manual and exercise pamphlet. The tournament was starting in an hour, and I was already running late. The train finally came to a full stop, I could feel the pressure of multiple bodies pressing up against mine, they had the same thing in mind, to get off first - The reason for this frantic rush, was that the trains were never large or frequent enough to contain the mass of commuters that attempted to board everyday. If you weren't quick, you could very easily get caught in the frenzy, and miss your stop. The next station was over 120 kilometers out of Mayfair, and it would take several hours to get back here - No one wanted to be the last one out.

Penn spent the 15 minute ride, staring out of the window, mumbling his campaign tactics to himself. He barely noticed the change in scenery from country side, to the urban look of Mayfair as the train neared his destination.

As the train came to a final stop, the space around the exit doors, grew tighter and tighter, with no one in their seats, and everyone at the doors. With three short beeps, the door slided open, and the two masses collided. The hundreds of commuters boarding and the hundreds exiting. Elbows bumping, knees slamming, Bags swinging, and clothes stretching. This little dance strangers did at train stations was not new, . Especially in the greater Kensington area, as the train lines had been built over 50 years ago, and the towns around them, that relied on them, had outgrown their capacity many times over. In the confusion and hysteria, of this daily ritual, I managed to get off and find my way to an open area of the station. Checked my bag to confirm its contents, after a few moments, I made my up the stairs and out into the city square. It was high noon, on a beautiful Thursday this 6th of July.

Mayfair had a glorious energy to it. Bustling with life, old and young, it melded beautifully the class and esteem of old country traditions with the sleek, precise zeal of modern industry. The convention building where TP3 was being held, was only walking distance from the station. Penn beamed at the moment he was experiencing. He was in his moment. He could feel it. A certain assurance and confidence had been surging in Penn, since early that morning. It was wildly refreshing. Penn pulled out a hand drawn map, out of the right pocket of his navy cargo coat, held it open in his right hand and placed his index finger on the circle, and read the small squiggle above it, "Mayfair Station.", sliding his finger up the map to the convention building, he looked up and saw that it was a straight shot down Yorkshire Drive, which was a wide and scenic route, commonly used by the casual strollers and young romantics of the city. Penn shoved the map back into his pocket, slung the other bag strap over his left shoulder, and began pacing down Yorkshire Drive, gaining confidence with every step. This Is It Penn thought, This is my salvation, my moment, it has to happen. With that, Penn continued down, pacing forcefully now, growing more eager to make it to his destination and began the day's events.

The convention building was a large, limestone structure, with oversized entrance and foyer. Penn made his way up to it. Penn continued up the grand stair case leading up to the entrance with as much grace as his lanky legs would allow him. Legs that had grown gradually weaker. I felt a sudden jolt to my confidence at the sight of hundreds of people, mostly older, some as old as 70s, swarming the entrance , I had regressed , whatever confidence I had felt or shown up to this point, was probably just a result of misplaced adrenaline or bravado. I never felt smaller. I continued anyways, swallowing the lump in my throat, the tourney was about 10 minutes from beginning.

The line at the registration check table was quick enough. There were 10 of them at the gate, and they processed and confirmed the placement of upwards of 200 participants in about 7 minutes. It was finally my turn at the checkpoint, I had my papers out, seated at the table before me was a stubby old man, graying hair, somewhere in his early 50s.

"Name ?" he asked, with a tired dullness, that such repetitive tasks compel, reaching out for my papers, I handed him my registration form, confirmation slip, and identification card.

"Penn." I said.

"Yes, Mr. Beasely. We've been expecting you. 14 years old, huh ?" He asked, as he inspected my ID card, shooting a suspicious look back and forth between my face and my card.

"Yes." I said proudly. The doubt in his eyes, implied that I was too young to be in such a tournament, even though I met the age eligibility.

"OK Mr. Beasely, Welcome to Tactical Persuasion Tournament 3. You are player number 153. Your booth is 8. Good Luck." He said dryly, giving up on whatever premonitions he was having.

"Thank you sir." I chirped, grabbing back my papers.

Penn walked past the open space between his desk and the next one over, and made his way over to the large, open glass doors that lead to the main hall, where the games would be commencing soon. He followed the crowd through the door, down a few flights of stairs, as he continued to the main hall. The door to the Main Hall was down at the end grand hallway. Penn increased the speed of his pace into a trot, to match that of the equally distressed crowd of late arrivals.

Penn entered the main hall, and stumbled to a stop. Craned his neck back slightly to take in the fury of mass of people in the oversized room. They were all rushing to their booths in steeped anticipation, as they were vying for the same 50,000 pounds he was.

A large, bulky man in a suit with an intimidating mustache, bald head and pursed lips, who was standing on the inside of the door of the hall, strided briskly over to Penn. "You there. What are you doing here." the suited man boomed.

"I - I am here, in the competition. Im number 1, uh, 150, no 153." Penn stammered looking at his confirmation slip, he extended his arm to give the man his slip, "You see its stamped, I ...".

"Give it here." shouted the man, grabbing the paper out of Penn's closed hands. He inspected it closely for a few more moments, the same premonition that slowly disappeared from the desk clerk's face, sure enough, cleared from the face of Mr. Mustache.

"It says here you cleared the preliminary entrance rounds."

"Yes I did. In Kensington last month."

"Well if that's the case, you're in the wrong room."

"What do you mean, this is the main hall, right ?", inquired a confused Penn

"Yes it is, but these people here are competing in preliminaries for next season's Tourney. You already passed the preliminaries for this season's tourney. So you will be participating in the 20-Man Ship Formation Campaign."

This was all new to Penn, as he listened with a blank expression.

"Then where do I..."

"You're in the state room kid. Up the stairs, to your left." barked the giant, pointing to a metal stair case on the far side of of the hall. He handed back the slip, and spun on his heel returning to his post on the right side of the doors to the main hall.

Penn shrugged, and paced over to the through the hall, he noticed a lot of people in the room giving him strange looks as he passed, sharing glances, and some were outright staring. He could hear the whispers in the crowd, "State room.", "Look at the size of him.", "This must be a joke.", "Poor kid, will have his hopes crushed in there.".

It was strange, but not uncommon. As Penn recalled, the less than subtle whispers of peers haunted his mind. School peers impressed with his consistently high class marks, but agitated at how irrelevant their own academic feats seemed in his presence. He continued his brisk pace through the hall, until he finally arrived at the stairs, made his way up, followed the hall signs that pointed people to the state room, until he arrived at a room at the end of hall, that had a simple black & white sign that read "State Room ~ Participants only please.

". He gripped the door knob, twisted it to the right, heard it click, and pushed it open.

The only thing Penn could think at the sight of the room was that it had been appropriately named, State Room, it was very Stately. The walls were covered in soft maroon and black cashmere prints, the floor pattern resembles that of the royal palace, there were decorated drapes hanging from the ceiling with official looking insignia. He stood at the open door for a moment longer, taking in the scene before him. The ruckus was all happening in the center of the room, about 15 yards in front of him, there were 10 booths, they were organized in a circle, with a large circle of empty space in between them, each had 3 monitors, and two chairs, there were handles and controls implanted in the desk, apparently used to control the monitors, in front of 2 chairs.

16, 17, 18, 19 Penn counted to himself, there were 19 people scurrying around the monitors and their respective booths. Behind the circle of booths there were a set of tables with 4-5 men in suits, they looked corporate, he could barely make out a shorter man among them, with gray hair. Organizers I guess, Penn thought to himself. As he continued surveying the room, Penn saw a booth marked 8, with an empty chair and a man sitting in the other chair. The sudden realization that this moment had finally arrived, the moment he held with a level of indulgent anticipation for the longest time had finally arrived, sent a jolt of optimism through Penn's body. He was walking on air. His prospects were looking good.

Penn made his way over to his booth, with a hop in his step, as he got closer to his booth, he could see the man who would become his partner-to-be, clearer. The man appeared to be in his early 30s, slim but short, wearing jeans and a rugby themed shirt, and styled blonde hair. The man shifted his view from the monitors, and onto Penn. His facial expression was one of exhaustion or focus, it was hard to tell. So Penn tested the waters.

"Hey, I'm Penn, and you are ?" Penn chirped, as he reached his hand out to the man.

The man looked at Penn, looked at Penn's extended hand inviting a shake, and looked back at his monitors. All in one swift move. Barely acknowledging Penn's presence. Penn returned his hand to his side, trying to ignore the disappointing first impression - His optimism was still beaming through. He pulled out the empty chair, and set his bag on the desk, without taking a seat, removed his confirmation slips, just in case. An attempt to preempt any future misunderstandings. Took his seat.

He looked over at his absent-minded partner, and on the left breast of his shirt, there was a name tag, that read Aiden.

Penn smirked to himself and said, "So Aiden, what are all these booths for, I've never seen a Formation Game set up like this before."

Without blinking Aiden, launched into a speech with a twinkle in his eye, " It is a 20-Man Ship Formation Campaign, 10 teams of 2, whichever team of 2 wins, will play in a one on one secondary round. Partners become Rivals. That second round will be played for the 50,000 pound grand prize."

Aiden was beaming, he had apparently come to the conclusion that since Penn was his partner, he had a much better shot at the prize money, assuming victory was that much easier for him.

He finally looked over at Penn, taking in the size and appearance, "Tough luck kid.", he chuckled, and returned to inspecting the monitors, and scribbling notes on the pads given to each of the teams.

One of the corporate guys from the back walked over from the regulators table, into the middle of the empty space, and proclaimed, "Welcome to TP3 final rounds, your participation in these rounds in this room, means you are the best of the best. We will begin shortly, but before that, I would like to introduce a very special guest.".

Penn couldn't pay attention to the regulator's speech, he was busy flipping through his tactic manual brushing up on some maneuvers.

The regulator continued, "Mediating today's Campaign is a special guest, H.K. Bennet. ", Penn dropped his pad. H.K. Bennet, I couldnt believe my ears, I looked up from my set, and sure enough, there he was, Sir Bennet. The Silver Fox, the Tactical Iconoclast, Luminary of our time, he directed the war efforts of 5 different nations, and the strategic structural design of 2 separate world militaries in the past 10 years. The man was a legend. Though his appearance would express otherwise.

H.K. Bennet was a frail man, a bit shorter than Penn, with a wardrobe beaming of old world brilliance, a dark grey wool suit, tapered scarf, and a wispy full beard and a charcoal stained mustache. His features defined him and exemplified such a tournament. Mute appearance, with astounding intellect. He was a man, of mild manner and no contempt, at least his appearance suggested this, of no demons or ambition, just experiencing the days as it wade him through. He looked tired, but the brilliance in his eyes were unmistakable and they pierced through his foggy glasses, they were mesmerizing.

With his left arm behind his back, and his right hand stroking his wispy beard, Sir Bennet emerged from the mediators table, made his way to the empty space replacing the suited regulator, he began pacing in a small circle in the center of the room, with the entire room still captivated by his presence - he began to explain the rules and regulations of today's campaign. "The first round will be a couples affair, 10 teams of 2, 20 cycles, we will be testing your collaborative ability - This is key in any strategy session, real world or game. It will examine your ability to extract the most complementary skills from your partner, fuse them with yours, for a much more promising campaign effort. You have met your teammate for this round, they should be seated beside you at your booth.", Penn looked over at Aiden, but Aiden's gaze was now fixated on H.K., like the rest of the teams, nodding his head as he listened, feeling ignored, Penn looked back at H.K.

"The purpose of this game is use your progression monitor, to plot your coordinates and move-per-move destination of your ship, use the feedback monitor, to identify and respond to placement moves of the other teams, every move forward, gives the team to the right of you a preferable placing. You have 3 weapons sets, 2 in each set, use them wisely, they are the only ones you will be given this round.", H.K. continued in his circle pace, using his hands to accentuate his points, "Use them to sink, damage , or slow down the ships of your competitors. It is your job, and in your best interest to pursue a route of coercion and larceny, and not diplomacy. This is a war game exercise. Each team will have one move to select per cycle, and the turns cycle counterclockwise. The end goal is to have your ship in the center of the platform. The safe zone. This signifies that you were able to bring your ship to the safe zone, with minimal damage, first. You may use any notes you brought along with you today. You may not speak with any member of the regulatory staff or other teams."

H.K. stopped pacing, and stood still in the center of circle, he shot a look directly at Penn, held his gaze for a moment, and then another. Penn looked away, as did H.K. a moment later, smiling. Sir Bennet concluded his speech, " Please take a moment to consider your short term and long term strategies with your partners. There is a 7,500 pound prize to be shared equally by the winning team in this round, and a 50,000 Pound prize for Round 2. I will explain the nature of Round 2, later in the day. The first round will commence in 15 minutes. Prepare yourselves.", with that H.K. finished his riveting speech, and walked back to the regulators table.

The various teams began scrambling through their notes, and conversing with their partners, scribbling maps, and weapon allocation numbers, inspecting each others counter attack tactics, and long range pursuit maneuvers.

I looked over at my partner, he was still ignoring me, but now he was looking at his own notes and not H.K. I continued staring at him, to force his attention. Aiden shot a look of annoyance at me, and looked back at his notes, completely unfazed by my issue with him.

"Listen." I said, with a voice as stern as my mid-puberty larynex would allow, "Whether you like it or not, we are in this together, if you win, i win, and vice versa. I get half the money whether or not I help at all."

This seemed to have caught his attention, he stopped reading what he was reading, as if to suddenly comprehend the significance of my words, I continued, "So, instead of being so smug about it. Why don't you ask yourself how I was permitted in the State Room competition at all, in the first place. I may be of value to you."

"You snivelling little runt. There was probably a mistake with the registration papers, let me see your slip.", he said, I handed him my confirmation slip without any hesitation, I had nothing to hide. He examined it closely, and let out a soft sigh,

"How did a blithering little runt like you get admitted to one of the most prestigious strategic gaming competitions, this side of the ocean ?" Aiden asked rhetorically, he shrugged it off, placed my slip on the desk. With his arms crossed he looked at me apprehensively, "I suppose you have a point, runt. So what did you have in mind."

I smiled at my guarded partner, he finally began opening up to me. I dived right into my various layered, long range tactical maneuvers, explaining both the long and short side approaches. "We can try F15 Fly-Fish, it was favorite of the Greek Navy in the battle of Roshan, 60 years ago, it made use of limited encroachment space, while getting maximum physical damage. It is a 2-4-2, 1-3-1 placement strategy. Anytime enemy ships or weapons are 5-9 places from ours and coming closer, we use 2-4-2 in any direction to avoid them. 2 placements left, 4 forward, 2 right. Or any variation of it should work.", Aiden had the apprehensive look from earlier fixed on his face, "Well, what do you think?", I asked.

Aiden opened his folded arms, held his face in his hands, and began to laugh, quietly at first to himself, then wildly, grabbing his sides to contain himself, as he began attracting stares from the other tables. "Let me guess, let me guess." he said with a muffled voice, "You read that in a coloring book somewhere ?" The excitement in my face subsided slightly and my shoulders sunk back into my lanky frame, like air out of a punctured balloon. He was taunting me. What is with this guy, I thought, he was in no position to be deriding my ideas, they were totally valid and had great prospects.

"Get real, kid. Even if the 2-4-2 somehow worked to avert the offensive from the ship on the right, how will we manage to bypass the ship on the left. Who will undoubtedly exploit these efforts to get a shot in."

"That's where the 1-3-1 maneuver comes in. The reason the Greek Navy still uses this, is because they complement each other, you can transition from each pattern seamlessly to respond to the encroaching ship. That's why it works.", I answered, matter-of-factly

"That may be right, but it doesn't change the fact that its a pretty famous placement scheme, and the competition can use their feedback monitors to identify and counter our strategy." Aiden shot back, looking for a chink in my armor.

"A lot of things are popular. They still work.", I explained, "Trust me on this."

Much to my chagrin, Aiden would continue to be as stubborn as possible, even in the face of my perfect logic..

"I don't think so, runt. We will go with the Airhawk 4-7-4." He said defiantly, "And that's the end of that."

"I guess it is.", I said dryly. Sinking into my chair, defeated, I folded my arms, and waited for the interim session to be over, so I could watch this fool sink my dreams at financial liberation along with our ship, all because of his stubborn pride.

The 4-7-4 was doomed from the start, it works in some cases, but only in short range capacities, this was a long range formation session, it had no place here. But what could I do. I closed my eyes, and sat in silence, to regain my composure, I had been visibly flustered by this exchange between Aiden and I.

H.K. Bennet reemerged from the regulators table, but this time he stopped just before entering the large circle of empty space that separated the booths. He opened a hatch, on the side of booth 4, directly across from us, 2 key holes were exposed, and inserted 2 keys that were attached to a string attached to his trousers. He turned them. The room went dark, and the space between the booths began to light up with a virtual platform, that resembled the flat but rocky surface of the ocean, 10 virtual ships appeared on this platform, all aiming for the center, all parked directly in front of each of our booths. The center of platform there was a circular island, with the words SAFE ZONE transmitting from it, in a bold red. Our monitors flashed on, each showing a different set of images. Our feedback screen on the left, showed the names and numbers of each opposing team member, in a table, with their selected moves appearing as they entered them.

The progression screen showed an image of our ship, with the number of placements we were from the center at any given time, and displaying the nearest 4 ships, with our encroachment zone radiating a deep gray.

H.K. watched platform light up, along with the rest of us, and began his final statement before we began the round, "As I said before, the cycles will be moving counterclockwise, this means, the team on your right will be able to see and react to your move every cycle. You will be able to do the same, with the ship on your left. You can choose to be reactionary or proactive. Whatever fits into your strategy. Its your choice. It is 10 equal forward paces for all of you, and the ships can only take 5 hits until it is sinked. We will begin in 60 seconds.".

I watched our monitors, with a level of amazement and wonder that had been absent in my life for so long, these machines were state of the art, they were a far cry from my plastic and wood platforms in my room, back in Kensignton. I felt a bubbling twinge of resentment towards Aiden, because I would not be able to participate in this round, or even contribute to our ships. I wanted desperately to try my skills out in the big leagues, against all these great players, it was now or never, the prize money was almost an afterthought.

"30 seconds. Teams, man your stations." boomed H.K.

I slumped back into my chair, arms folded. Aiden was hunched over the controls, and scribbling on his note pad the positions and counter positions of the competing ships. Few things annoyed me more than baseless apathy, like the kind exuding from my partners smug face. Reasons included that the true mark of this trait , apathy, is that it is infectious and stubbornly persistent. It endures through generations. There is no place for it anywhere.

Hope be damned, a testament of this beast, I'm sure.

H.K. concluded the countdown, "10 seconds. Get Ready. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Begin !."

**Chapter 3**

Booth 1 lit up, as the cycle started with their booth, naturally, then Booth 2, then Booth 3, and on like that in rapid succession. I continued sitting with my arms folded and my legs crossed and extended under the table, as my indifferent partner clamored over the controls.

"Their going to fast." muttered Aiden to himself.

Our Booth finally lit up, and Aiden entered the first step in the 4-7-4 formation. By moving our ship, 4 placements to the left, to avoid the attack from Booth 9.

"Too Obvious", Penn thought.

Team 9's booth lit up next, and they move 1 step right, and 2 steps forward. To engage Booth 10's ship head on.

"Why aren't they coming for us." muttered an increasingly frustrated Aiden.

I shook my head in disbelief. You cant be this dense. I thought.

Cycle 5;

Team 7's ship moved left 2 steps and up 1.

Aiden continued forward with his formation, he was baiting the other ships, to no avail, they were engaging each other. Ship 8 and Ship 7, had taken a few pot shots at each other and made solid progress up towards the SAFE ZONE, and Ship 9's audacity to confront Ship 1 head on, had backfired, they retreated 2 placements and were 3 shots away from sinking.

Cycle 8;

Team 7 finally took Aiden's bait, they retreated 2 placements, and cut him off. Aiden was caught off guard by the sudden change in Team 7's progress. Our ship took 3 shots. Aiden continued on stubbornly with his 4-7-4 formation, waiting for some sort of pay off.

Cycle 10;

Ships 5 and 10 were sunk. Ship 9 on our right, had moved forward several spaces, because they did not have ship 10 as a distraction to plan around. Ships 3 and 4, continued they furious pace forward, while battling each other with ever step up.

Cycle 12;

The round had gone on for about 45 minutes now, and Ships 1 and 6, had just been sunk. With Ship 2 and 7, in similar positions 5-7 places from the SAFE ZONE.

Cycle 14;

We were still 4 places from the safe zone. Teams 3,4, and 9 were all within 2-3 places from the Safe Zone. They would get there in the next few cycles and we would be eliminated. I was watching intently, doing the math in my head, but it seemed to be over. I looked over at my partner, and was shocked to see him looking right back at me, with a stark vulnerability in his eyes. "So what were you saying about the Greek Navy." he asked coyly, trying to absolve himself of his past berating. I couldn't believe this.

"Move Over.", Penn said impatiently, "There still might be a chance somewhere here.".

Aiden got up off his chair, I slid over and into it.

"You got us in deep, Aiden. I don't know if I can get us out of this." I lamented.

We were on our 16th cycle and Booth 4 was lit up. I looked around at the competing teams, they all had their eyes glued to their monitors in manic anticipation. Especially Team 9. who was now just 2 places from the SAFE ZONE. I looked over at Team 3, and 4 who were battling it out for that 3rd space from the SAFE ZONE. Team 1, 5, 6, 10 had all been sunk already and Team 7 and 2 were in similar positions as us. Ship 7 was 5 places from the safe zone, and team 2 was 6 places from the safe zone. We were 4.

I took all of this in, closed my eyes, and breathed deeply.

"What are you doing. Its about to be our turn, c'mon Penn." said a panicked Aiden.

I ignored him. I opened my eyes to peer around the room one final time. When my line of sight got to Booth 2, I saw the Regulators table right behind their booth. H.K. was the only one at the regulators table whose view was not fixed on a monitor. He was standing watching the virtual platform. I was watching this man, as he watched the campaign with great joy and satisfaction. With a stoic expression on his face, as he stroked his wispy beard. H.K., I thought, H.K. Bennet., and it suddenly occurred to me.

I remember transcribing an emergency encroachment tactic out of, "Practical and Comprehensive Tactical Maneuvering Vol. 5" by H.K. Bennet, before I left home this morning.

I shifted my gaze away from Sir Bennet, pulled out the final notes I had been carrying around all day, frantically going through the pages looking for something I scribbled in the back of the binded note paper, somewhere.

"What are you looking for. Hurry up, 9 is one place from the SAFE ZONE.", stammered my wimp-of-a-partner, his voice cracking.

I spread out a crumpled piece of note paper, and read it furiously.

This just might work, I thought, but it might be too late.

I turned to Aiden, and expressed my closing strategy, which would be a combination of short range offensive and baiting tactic.

"Listen, here is what I am thinking. We will use a formation to bait 9 into attacking 7, and while they are engaging each other use the opening to pursue the the last 4 places we have until the SAFE ZONE. Since team 3 and 4's ships are on the other side of the platform, we can't do anything about them, but hope for them to take each other out. 9 has two hits left until its sunk. And 1 hit, makes it skip a round and open for a second attack, as it can not move, but it can return the attack. If we attack on its left side, it will use long range missiles, but it cant move, so we move back 1 place, it hits 7, we move up 2, and as 7 and 9 engage each other we use the opening to move to make our final offensive to the SAFE ZONE." I concluded, out of breath.

"Whatever you say, just hurry up." shot back an increasingly shaken Aiden, whose eyes were still on the Progression monitor.

I spun around, and entered my Hog Barrel final offensive, when our booth lit up, we moved 2 placements forward, and shot a diagonal shot at Ship 9. It was hit, and would be frozen in place for a round, 1 placement from the SAFE ZONE. It had one more hit until it would sink.

"C'mon, Take the bait, take the bait." I whispered to myself.

The next cycle, we moved back one placement. As predicted, ship 9 shot its last remaining long range shot at our old position, and the missile hit Ship 7's right side.

Cycle 18;

After hitting ship 7 successfully, Ship 9 had to wait one more round before it could select a forward maneuver, it would be our turn before theirs. Ship 7 launched a long range missile back at Ship 9, across our territory, so I moved the ship 1 placement back, to give ship 7 the room it needed to sink Ship 9. The missile came and hit Ship 9, on its left side, delivering the final blow. Ship 9 had been sunk.

Cycle 19

I peered over at the feedback monitor to see the placements of the other ships. Ships 3 and 4, were each a few shots away from being sunk, and 2 placements from the SAFE ZONE. We were now 5 places from the SAFE ZONE, ship 7 was still celebrating their sinking of Ship 9. So I took the moment to take a pot shot to the right side of their ship with a short range missile, effectively halting their progress, for the next cycle at least.

Cycle 20

After freezing Ship 7, with a blindside missile shot the last cycle. I entered the final formation of H.K.'s Hog Barrel tactic, 5 placements forward. Straight shot to the SAFE ZONE. With no ships within attacking distance or capacity, I did not consider anything other than getting our ship to the finish line. Ship 3 was just 2 places from the SAFE ZONE, after sinking Ship 4 in the 19th cycle.

Our ship continued it pace forward. With only 3 places remaining. I could taste the victory in the air.

2 places. Almost there.

1 place. We were both standing now, a small crowd of losing members from the opposing teams, were crowding around our booth. "C'mon, C'mon. Almost there.". I looked over at the feedback monitor, Ship 3 was also one place from the SAFE ZONE.

Just then, a high pitched beeping alarm goes off, echoing in the State Room, as the SAFE ZONE area of the virtual platform was flashing a bright green.

A large short, statement appeared across all 3 of our monitors.

Ship 3 Wins. We get eliminated. The room exploded in applause and congratulations. The crowd that had gathered behind us, dissipated quickly, and rushed over to Booth 3, where Team 3 members were being congratulated by the rest of the teams. Aiden walked over there as well, as if to absolve himself of our collective defeat. I sunk in my seat.

Shoulders remained collapsed. My moment, I thought, my moment at redemption just slipped through my fingers. The Hog Barrel was a last minute, emergency tactic to regain placement. I would have never used it, if Aiden had just let me go with the F15 from the start. We would have won, then I would have beat him easily, and won the prize money. Not only did I.

I grabbed my binded note sheets, registration forms, approval slips, and writing quills out of the table, and shoved them all in my bag. I fastened the bag over my shoulders. I headed straight for the door, steadily increasing my speed.

Penn swung his bag over his face, to shield his from the winners, the other players, Aiden, and his idol, Sir Bennet. He was frantically trying to reach the door in time, but it was too late. He could feel the tears drench his coat.

By the time Penn reached the main entrance, He cheeks were slick, with a continuous stream. He was fighting back the tears, but they wouldn't stop. He finally neared the Mayfair station, walking up the last stretch of Yorkshire drive.

Penn couldn't believe his misfortune. He had done everything right, he was poised to win today's campaigns. On his walk, his circumstance reminded a weepy Penn of the opening passage in H.K.'s Vol 5, it stated ,

Misfortune is a particularly lethal strain of bad luck, It takes a bite out of your pride, and leaves in its place despondency.

Despondency that manifests in the hearts of men, who submit to it.

**Chapter 4**

"Penn !", shouted Gloria Beasely at the bottom of the stairs, Penn's mother, "Penn ! Its 2PM, what are you still doing asleep ?".

Penn was not asleep, but he was barely awake. It was this half-conscious state he was lingering in for a few hours now. Still in his bed. The crushing defeat in Mayfair, from the day before, still weighing heavily on him.

"Penn ! WAAAKE UP !", squeaked Nis, joining the chorus

"Im up ! Im up !" Penn shouted back, lifting his head slightly, to look at his alarm clock. It was a few minutes past 2PM.

All of the sudden felt a twinge of guilt for shouting at his sister, even though he needed to shout for them to hear him. Nis Beasely was an 11 year old 4th year student, about to enter primary school system the next year. She resembles Penn, slightly in her gawky frame. But the feminine features, work well with a lanky frame - whereas it makes Penn look like a skeleton.

Ah, Nis thought Penn, the only bright spot still left in my life, especially after yesterday. Penn did love his sister, he cherished her. She was still open and accepting of Penn. Though, she probably did here the rumors about him from her own friends. Even if that had been the case, it had never altered their relationship. Being the only 2 children of Joseph and Gloria Beasely, they had found solace in each other. But alas, It was the day of Commemoration Ceremonies at all of the Kensington schools, including Buckleys Starter Academy, where Nis was just finishing her 4th year studies and exit exams.

"Penn, I'm taking Nis to Buckelys, for a parent instructor meeting." continued Mrs. Beasely at the base of the stairs, "I need you to wake up and watch the house."

"I got it mum." Penn croaked, finally crawling out of bed, "On your way then."

Penn, got up, he was still in the navy coat and bleached khakis he wore to the Mayfair. Changed quickly into a brown button down and black, slim fitting cargo pants. Grabbed his cracked glasses off of the night stand, and adjusted it on the brim of his nose.

He could hear the front door slam shut behind them. Empty house again, he thought.

On his way out of the room, he ripped the entire month of May out of the his calendar, crumpled it up and threw it in the rubbish bin. He couldn't stand the sight of the red circle marked around the 6th. The day that had formerly represented great anticipation, was now just a constant, unapologetic reminder of his crushed dream.

Penn walked out of his room, down the hall, passed the stairs. To make sure his father wasn't home. As he neared the bedroom of his parents. He heard a terribly unsettling knocking at the door.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Penn nearly jumped out of my skin, at the sudden knocking on the door. Entirely too loud at this hour. I wonder what mom forgot this time, Penn thought to himself . Bang. Bang. Bang. The knocking continued. Penn stopped halfway down the stairs, and stared at the front door, wondering why the intensity and frequency of the knocks hadn't shifted. "Gimme a second." Penn snapped at the door.

"I don't have a second. Come out now." An unfamiliar voice of a man shouted back. I stood absolutely still. Who could this be knocking at my door. In a sudden panic, Penn ran over to his dad's duffel bag, set beside the living room ottoman, and pulled out the most intimidating iron baseball bat I could find. This was perhaps the only time Penn was glad, his dad purchased all of that sports equipment months ago, in an attempt to entice his son to take on sports. Penn shifted his focus back to the moment at hand, and walked around the corner, into the main foyer of the house, and over to the door, 10 feet away now, he crept forward, Bang. Bang. Bang. The knocking continued.

I reached for the door handle with my left hand. Wrapped my palm around it, began twisting it slowly, with bat in hand. Feeling the knocking vibrate through my forearm. Bang. Bang. Bang. I pulled door knob all the way right. I took a deep breath, and yanked it open.

I clenched the bat with both hands, over my right shoulder. Palms sweating, breathing strained. Standing before me, was a stout man in his early 50s, wispy peppered mustache, and a callous expression glued to his face - "Mr. Beasely, your train is leaving soon. Get your bag, and be ready in within the hour please." He said promptly in a hushed tone, now that he had my full attention.

"What train ? Who are you ?" I barked back, still clenching the bat with both my hands, over my right shoulder, as if I was preparing to knock a fast ball into the stands, – Why was this person talking to me. Just then, I noticed he was wearing the a navy blue suit, top hat, and a patch that read "Driver" in bold navy blue letters, over his right breast.

He looked confused. He shifted his gaze to my bat, as his eye brows furrowed and lips pressed together. As if to realize there had been some sort of misunderstanding. He reached into his back pocket, Penn clenched his bat tighter. The man pulled out a thin, gold envelope with a red seal fastening the envelope closed. He handed it to me, and said "I will be in the vehicle outside for 2 hours. That is all the time we have this afternoon, Sir Beasely."

I help the envelope in my left hand, dropped the bat on the floor, no longer threatened by this strange man, perplexed by the situation I had found myself in. Who was the strange man, what was this envelope, and how did he know my name.

The man turned around and walked back to a regal, polished KL600 parked on the curb, just in front of their red brick house - Penn peered over to the vehicle from his front door in awe, at the superbly luxurious vehicle favored by dignitaries and aristocrats the world over. Certainly, the most indulgent transport vehicle ever to grace Rover Boulevard, this humble and quiet street in Kensington. That just added to Penn's confusion.

Penn closed the door behind him, with the adrenaline still shooting up from body to my head. "Ahh, my temples", he groaned , they began throbbing again, mercilessly. I started rubbing them with my right hand, envelope still clenched in my left hand. I held the Envelope up to the light, it did have a letter in it.

I put a side of the envelope in my mouth and tore it open, pulling out a single sheet of parched beige paper, with a hand written ink letter on it. I read it outloud, to inhibit my lingering doubts about the nature of this situation;

**WANDSWORTH PREMIERE ACADEMY FOR THE GIFTED**

_- INVITE ONLY -_

**ADMISSION STATEMENT**

Dear Sir Pennal Beasely,

You have been accepted, on an invite-only basis to Wandsworth Premiere Academy for the Gifted.

The new academic year will be starting immediately. It is a boarding academy, so you shall be living here in the residential halls upon arrival, and year round. We have reserved a room for you.

Fees & Expenses have been paid for and Admission process has been circumvented by Sir H.K. Bennet directly, on your behalf.

If you are reading this, then you should have already met Theophilus, your personal driver for the day.

He was sent to hand deliver this letter and escort you to Chiswick Train Station expediently

There is one last train running this week - It is on special order.

I understand the nature of this letter, might be a bit unsettling, but I assure you it is no mistake. I will explain everything in great detail, upon your arrival. We will follow this visit up, with admission staff visiting with your parents, and expressing the nature of the academy and necessity of their cooperation. So that their reaction may not influence or halt your decision and coming attendance at our establishment.

Your performance at the war game tournament you attended recently, was the last evidence I needed.

You are the one, Sir Beasely. I vouched for you personally.

We look forward to seeing you here at Wandsworth.

Signed,

**Sir H.K. Bennet**

Dean of Admissions

Wandsworth Premiere Academy for the Gifted

This had to be some kind of joke, Penn thought. Wandsworth was the diamond upper crust of academic standards the world over, it was an invite only establishment, they do not take inquiries for enrollment from the public. The children of some of the most important people in the world attend that school. Children of Royalty, Aristocrats, Parliament members, and other Dignitaries. Why was I chosen ? How did this come about all of the sudden ? These questions were flying through my head. I felt dizzy.

What did Theophilus mean, "Be ready within 2 hours." be ready with what ?

This has to be some elaborate ruse, plotted by my contemporaries, I'm sure. Why did H.K. have so much confidence in me, I lost in the first round after all.

After reading the letter a few more times, I decided it was legitimate enough. After all, it did reference my participation in an event that happened just yesterday, and if it was legitimate. This shift in my immediate life style had profound implications, it was so sudden, and so appealing - Free, Boarding, Elite. These words were floating in my head. A place where my intellect would be revered, not shunned. Where I could rub elbows with the children of elite, and not low rank, country dwellers.

I felt an odd, but recognizable, nervous excitement bubbling in my gut. Maybe this was divine intervention. It certainly felt like it. What else did I have to do this summer. Nothing, and the prospect of attending another school in Kensington, during my 9th year onward, with a lot of the same classmates that went to Williamsburg alongside me, was nauseating to say the least.

In that moment, I made a decision. It was a quick one, but looking at my existing prospects relative to the option placed in front of me, by the influence of some divine being. It seemed obvious. I decided to go with Theophilus, into the KL600, and up to Chiswick Station. I was nervous. But I was sure.

There are moments in life. Moments when you know your life has changed forever. I would not make the mistake of forgoing this rare opportunity, and spending the rest of my life agonizing about the path not taken. Moments when you cross a bridge. The old you, your past life will never return. I had crossed that bridge.

...

**Chapter 5**

The sun was setting now over the rolling hills of Chiswick.

I was sitting in the back of the KL600, with my bag on the right side, there was a see through partition separating the backseats of the vehicle and the front. I was on the left side of the back seat, peering out of the window at the sunset, absent-minded. I had packed very lightly, a few shirts, trousers, and over coats, some books, and writing material.

We were making our way up Brixton metro, an extended back route leading out to Chiswick. Theophilus remained silent the entire drive up from Kensington. I remember thinking how familiar Chiswick sounded but I couldn't put my finger on it.

Before I could ponder this recollection deeper, we had arrived at the destination. We pulled into the baron pavement, drop-off area in front of Chiswick Station. The place looked like a ghost town.

I received instruction by my suddenly audible driver, " Sir Beasely, you are to leave the vehicle, and head down to the waiting area of the station. Please collect all of your baggage and items, I will not be returning to this location.

As instructed, I collected my things, and stepped out of the back door of the KL600, with my small tote bag. It was 5PM, and the sun was setting, and a cold overdraft was coming in. I peered left to right, examining the front of the station, and spotted the slightly boarded up, but broken into entrance on the far right side. I looked back, at Theophilus in the front of the KL600, he gave me a knowing wave, as he revved the engine and pulled away from the building. I didn't return the wave. It seemed too out of character. I spun on my heel, and made my way to the far right side of the building and to the entrance.

As I entered the door, I made my way up the dingy and baron alley way to the main reception and waiting area of the station, I remembered why this place sounded so familiar, the conductor on our train in Mayfair was telling some patrons about how it was recently shut down metro from the metro line to make room for a new station that was built 40 Kilometers north of here, it had been abandoned by the Transport Committee for undisclosed reasons. The deathly silence of the reception area, reaffirmed the conductor's statement to be truth. The place was abandoned.

There I was, standing in this eerie, baron, unkempt railway station. Alone with my thoughts. The excitement had subsided a bit, and self-doubt began to creep back into my subconscious. What am I doing here ? I thought, I'm 150 Kilometers from home, I didn't get to say goodbye to anyone, I hopped into a strangers car, and now I am here alone.

The breeze from the fields outside were cycling through the waiting area, I shivered. Holding my coat tightly over my torso. Squeezed my tote at my side.

Before I could sink further into the bottomless pit of self-doubt, a distant, familiar sound pierced my thoughts. It was a large, hunkering piece of metal and iron beating the rails as it made its way up to the station. My train was finally arriving. I let out a sigh of relief. I couldn't wait to get out of this place.

The train continued at a gradually decreasing pace into the station. Until finally coming to a screeching halt. I walked up to the locomotive, as the doors slid open, with a creaking noise almost as loud as when it stopped. I waited for a moment, outside of the door, for the onslaught of exiting passengers and commuters - out of habit - But no one came. I took one last breath, and stepped onto the train.

At first it appeared that there was no one on board, there was only one module with seats in it, the rest of the train was carrying cargo apparently. I took a moment to take in my surroundings, craned my head around, took one last look out at the station, and the train door closed behind me. An automated voice came on the overhead sound system, "All passengers please find and take your seats immediately. The train will resume on this final route in a moment. This is the last stop until Wandsworth. Thank for your cooperation."

I walked into the seating cabin.

I almost tripped over myself, at the sight of a girl, not much older than me, seated alone on the left side, in the middle of the cabin. We exchanged glances, as I continued my walk to the back. I surveyed her, once last time before passing.

I felt an urge to look a third time, but resisted it successfully. I was embarrassed at the sudden emotion and faint attachment I felt for this complete stranger.

What a tantalizing girl, I thought, as I continued my way through the module, I rationalized that the attachment was only natural, as I felt like I found a person who I shared this moment with. Besides, she was radiant. Her very face, was exuding warmth and personality, both measured and mute, without a word. A familiar warmth . Indifferent, though it may seem, immersive it remained. That ubiquitous warmth - that lay dormant in the deepest enclaves of our memory - The deja vu-esque nature of this sudden yearning brings us back, to our youth, younger days of childhood adventures and misfortune, earlier still, before the onset of crushing self-awareness brought upon by biological shifts that forced this change from innocence to adolescence , back then, those days of infant youth, when mum was the sun, her presence was bliss, and her body was god. Back when her presence alone, brought near-nonsensical joy to her offspring, we, her very creation.

I find my seat two rows behind, on the right side of the aisle, from where she was sitting. I sit on the seat facing the front, closest to the window, and set my bag on the seat besides mine.

Dismissing this moment in time would prove impossible, as I look out the old, baron, double-plated window over the wheat fields and abandoned warehousing structures of Chiswick, a common sight in these post-industrial countryside towns, as the sun was setting. It reminded me Kensington, with all its people, experiences, and memories collectively representing itself as a love, with a degree of fondness typically reserved only for close family or lovers- I spend a few more moments lost in my own thoughts, when I began having no thoughts, instead reverting to a deafening silence as I'm overcome with feelings of sudden detachment, an overwhelming guilt as im departing from my family.

From Nis.

But I did leave a note for Nis, under head pillow. Only time will tell, if she ever finds it.

I held onto this faint optimism. The thought of Nis was comforting. I shifted my gaze out of the window. I was departing surely, without doubt nor fear, but longing persists. This too shall pass, I hear echo in these same enclaves of my subconscious. As the train leaves the station and nears its high speed, which it will retain most of the trip, the town slowly disappears from sight

I start to feel the self-doubt creeping back, as I begin questioning my own motives, understanding, finally, in this fleeting moment, why great men, throughout history, have had enduring apprehension toward great challenges, great change. Progress. It's the commitment in lew of doubt that changes your very essence. This metamorphosis inherent in its nature, remained frightening all the same.

The train cubby continues to gain speed on the beaten tracks. The repetitive, click clacking of the tracks were strangely soothing. It was going to be a long ride, so I should try and get some rest. I rested my head against window pane. the fading township and ominous sunset behind the thick clouds, serving as a comforting sleep aid. I eventually drifted off it was a dreamless, blank slumber.

Chapter 6

We arrived in Wandsworth just before midnight. The train crept to a stop, at an equally abandoned station in Wandsworth, similar to the one we left in Chiswick. Penn grabbed his tote bag, and made his way up the cubby, and out of the open door ways, onto the station's open area. He followed the cracked and beaten pavement towards the stair case. Penn wondered where he was supposed to go, and where the school was. He was not paying much attention to his path. Penn reached into his bag for the letter, for any hint as to how he was supposed to get to the Academy. He examined the letter's content and its blank back side of. Hoping for some clues.

Just then, Penn felt an object blocking his path, his right foot hit it, as he stumbled to a fall, flat on his face. CRACK.

Landing right on his nose – Penn felt the bridge of his nose snap out of place. "Uurrrggh." Moaned Penn in agony. His eyes watered up rapidly, as he continued gripping his nose and rolling on the floor of the station just yards from the stairs leading to the surface.

"What do we have here." A strange voice asked menacingly, "Hey, boy, your not from around here are you?"

Penn, clenched the bridge of his nose, and squinted. He smelled the faint scent of blood, as it gushed from his nostrils and dripped from his chin . The menacing voice was a young one, but there were more. Penn could make out the shadowy figures of 3 strangers, standing over him. Wiping the tears and dirt from his eyes, Penn made out the figures of three young, but burly boys, as they circled him. The apparent leader, was standing on Penn's left side. As Penn's slowly regained vision, he could see his glasses at the feet of his attacker. He reached for them, but it was too late.

"What do you think your doing ?" snarled, the guy that stomped Penn's glasses to pieces, "You are in our city boy. We are the Putney Crew, we run this station. It is our home. You have no business here, and we will see to it, that you remember your place country boy."

"Please, I am just here for school." Pleaded an injured Penn, "I do not mean any harm to you."

"You must be mistaken boy, school is out." Continued the assailant.

"I'm here for Wandsworth, please let me be on my way." Continued Penn, now bracing for a second attack

The sound of Wandsworth, suddenly agitated the attackers further. "Get him Chuck." Whispered an unnamed Putney Crew member – Chuck was apparently the name of their leader.

"Wandsworth, he says. Wandsworth." Crowed an increasingly animated Chuck, "A prissy boy from Wandsworth on the Northside of Putney. You must be lost."

The three closed in rapidly. Penn hunched over, and gripped the sides of his head, bracing for the oncoming onslaught of boots and fists. He kept one eye open. Through the legs of one of the boys, and with his impaired vision, Penn could barely make out a sudden commotion off in the distance. On the far side of this waiting platform of the station.

Out of no where, a large plume of brightly colored purple and grey smoke materialized, 10 yards from the boys. This caught all of their attention. Naturally inquisitive, Penn peered above the smoke looking for the source of it. Maybe an old light fuse had burnt out or rust had sparked a flame. Maybe it was distraction enough for him to escape, thought an increasingly desperate Penn. There was no sign of this, but even if there were, there was no explanation for the kind brilliant color of the smoke. It was ominous, the sight of an otherworldly, persistent plume of strangely colored smoke radiating in the middle of the platform, suspended in the air. It appeared to be noxious, and concentrated, Penn slid the grip of his palms from the side of his head over his nose and mouth. Took one finally breath, and held it.

The 4 boys remained frozen looking over, as the strange smoke, slowly dissipated.

As the smoke finally cleared. In its place appeared a man.

The man was strapping. Chiseled good looks, iron clad expressionless face, with a tapered but engrossing head of brown hair. He was draped in a regal looking red and gold robe, over understate undergarments, black trousers and fleece, with the robe just stopping short of his ankles. He looked to be in his late 30s, a good foot taller than Penn. The man remained standing in a still position, as his gaze was fixed on the scene before him.

Chuck finally broke the silence, with a feeble threat, "Hey – Uh, who are you ! You better answer me."

The man remained in his place, he glanced at the three boys, then over to me.

The man hung his head momentarily, then flung it back up with a large, captivating smile.

Penn finally released his breath, in an audible exhale, the total dissipation of the smoke gave him enough peace of mind to do so.

The strange man began marching forward towards us. The three boys were visibly alarmed by this sudden movement, they huddled closer together. Penn was sitting up right now, he managed to stumble a few more yards in the opposite direction to get away from his assailants during the distraction.

As the man, continued his march forward. Smile fixed on his face. Chuck made a quick, and seemingly prepared statement to his Putney comrades, "Putney is our home. Putney is our place. We will defend its honor from all outsiders." , it was a battle cry. The three lunged forward at the strange man.

"Please boys, save yourselves the trouble." Said the man, calmly as he continued forward.

The Putney boys continued their drive.

The man halted, they continued. The were just yards apart now. The man seemed to have suddenly realized the predicament he was in – Outnumbered, Unarmed, and Alone. He let out a sigh, as his face took a sudden somber expression. The Putney toads were just feet away from him now.

The man raised his right arm, palms open and extended in the direction of the boys. Closed his eyes, and let out a booming declaration, in a strange language.

"Ohm nit ijhool fimoorah.". The man's eyes remained closed. He appeared to be in a deep trance.

Just then, the Putney Boys froze in place, their run came to a sudden halt inches from the man. Their backs were turned to Penn, so he could not make out what exactly had taken place. The Putney boys remained in place a moment longer, just then the three of them limbered in all directions, their stiff bodies falling to the ground. A sickening crack of skulls and jaws could be heard, as the boys hit the cold and hardened concrete pavement – Without bracing themselves for the fall.

Their bodies remained frozen, on the floor, appearing limp and lifeless.

The man, lowered his right arm, and opened his eyes. He let out a groan in frustration, and muttered an indignant critique of himself, and the situation. The man was standing over the bodies of the boys, glancing around casually. He then shifted his glance over to Penn. He stepped over Chuck's chest, and continued his militaristic march over to Penn.

Penn could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing, he knew he had to get out of there. He tried to stand, but immediately fell back to the ground as his ribs still ached from the fall, earlier. He gripped them in agony.

There was nothing he could do. The man continued forward. Penn felt helpless, like a blithering victim of his circumstance. His thoughts seemed inconsequential now as the man reached Penn.

Feeling, as though it was surely his end. Penn gazed up, fearing the worst.

To his surprise the robed man, standing above him was smiling broadly and invitingly.

"Sir Beasely, I presume ?" the man asked kindly, "I apologize for my lateness, I was supposed to escort you from the train. H.K. did not give me the correct coordinates or time of your arrival."

The man looked down, and noticed the distressed expression on Penn's face. He chuckled at his own haste, and introduced himself.

"I am sorry. Where are my manners. Allow me to introduce myself.", the man reached forward to shake Penn's hand "My name is Julian Hughes, Jules for short, I am a member of the faculty of WANDSWORTH PREMIERE ACADEMY FOR THE GIFTED."

Penn retained the blank expression, still gripping Jules hand from the floor. He was pulled up. Standing now, Penn grimaced as he stretched his ribs.

What – where did you come from ?" Penn finally managed to squeak, pointing to where the smoke had now dissipated entirely.

Jules spun his entire body at the direction of the smoke, and shrugged an indifferent shrug at Penn's obliviousness to the situation.

"I take it, H.K. has not spoken with you about the true nature of your trip here to Wandsworth."

Penn shook his head.

"Well, they will have to explain it when we get there. We are already late as it is." Jules continued pacing around.

Jules stopped in place, a few feet from Penn, and asked an odd question, "Penn, you don't have an issue with motion sickness do you?."

What a strange question, Penn thought, but then again, everything about this trip was strange, the abandoned train stations, the invite, the mystery behind the letter, the special treatment, the smoke, the strange language, the unnatural fall of the Putney boys. Relative to the events over the past few days, the question seemed quiet normal, so Penn answered calmly, "No."

"Excellent. Now, I was not supposed to show you this, this early. But its justified, they are waiting for you at Wandsworth and we are late." Said Jules, as he walked over and picked my bag, crushed glasses, and admission letter off the floor.

He handed them to me. Looked around a few more times, and turned to me.

"Listen to me Penn, this will all make sense later tonight. I just need you to trust me." Said a stern Jules, "We will be teleporting through a back pass made available to us by other Faculty at Wandsworth. To materialize there. It is the only way, to make it there on time and unseen.", Jules continued, staring at Penn intently.

Penn's nose continued throbbing, but he barely noticed it through the words of Jules.

"Mr. Hughes. If I can be totally honest, I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about. But since you saved me, and you seem to know H.K. and my name and destination. I have no choice but to trust you."

"Good lad, but please call me Jules. I am not that old.", beamed Jules, after another moment he continued, "You know, I was reluctant about H.K.'s decision to vouch for such a young person, but I can see what he sees in you. You learn quickly and are quite the intuitive young chap. You may in fact be the one, Sir Beasely."

What do they mean by the one thought Penn, and why was this man calling me Sir Beasely, but he kept these thoughts to himself.

Jules stepped closer to Penn. He grabbed the edge of his right robe sleeve, and pulled it up the length of his forearm, exposing a radiating green stone lodged in his skin a few inches above his wrist. "This is an Oliphate Stone, Penn." Said Jules." I was staring at the stone.

"Magnificent isn't it?" Jules continued, pride filling his face.

The stone continued radiating. It had an instant magnetic effect on my line of vision, I couldn't take my eyes off of it. I felt legs get slightly numb. The stone was having a very real and immediate effect on my physiology, but before I could sink further into its distant ominous gaze, Jules spoke to me.

"Penn" Jules said, piercing my thoughts, "I need you to grip this stone with your right hand, as hard as you can. You will then close your eyes, you will keep them closed, until we arrive. It will be about 5 seconds, but it may feel longer. The teleportation process is not for rookies, it can be jarring."

Penn was engrossed with the sudden prospect of going into the smoke with Jules. Teleportation. The word lingered in Penn's mind, he felt a rush up his spine. If his eyes hadn't seen the smoke moments earlier, he would not believe what Jules was offering. Feeling as though, he had nothing to lose, Penn made the swift choice to go with Jules.

With one last breath, he stepped forward, reached over to Jule's exposed forearm, fixed his grip across as much of the arm as he could. The stone felt cold, it felt like it was moving beneath the surface. Penn closed his eyes and held his breath.

With his eyes remained closed, Penn felt a slight breeze starting to gather around their feet. Jules stepped in closer. The breeze picked up, it was a controlled spinning. An alien sensation overtook Penn's senses. Then, in an instant, the feeling of earth beneath his feet disappeared, the open air around him, closed in – was sucked out of the station. It felt as though he was immersed in water. In a vacuum. Warm. Odorless. Motionless. Pressurized Water.

A moment later. The familiar sound of whishing smoke plumes invaded Penn's hearing. With a soft thud, Penn fell to the floor, and flinched at the feeling of moist grass blades under his palms as he caught himself, not anticipating the sudden change in scenery.

"Penn." Jules voice called out, "We're here."

Penn slowly opened his eyes, and squinted in the dark. It was nightfall. He got up. Penn's rib gave a horrible clicking noise.

"We must be on our way now.", said Jules in a hushed tone.

In the dark of the night, Penn could barely make out the open cobble stone pathway leading up to a 30 foot tall open gate. They stepped through the brush onto the cobblestone. The pathway continued up another 100 yards, leading up to a building. It was quite the regal structure, especially with cloudy backdrop of the night complementing its stoic poise. The facade was lit by a series of lights at the base. There was a wide stretch of open garden area, with tall and coiffed peppermich trees lining each side of the garden. A large, concrete staircase leading up the the main entrance. Penn thought it resembled a mid century royal castle, rather than a school. With its reinforced, beige brick materials. Regal, hand crafted ornaments peppered the outside of the intimidatingly large front gates, which had to be at least 30 feet tall.

So this was WANDSWORTH PREMIERE ACADEMY FOR THE GIFTED, Penn thought, I finally arrived.

Jules continued his brisk pace up the long stretch of paved cobblestone, Penn struggled to keep up, clenching his bag in one arm, and his ribs in his left. The pain felt distant, as he was still mesmerized by the brilliance and sheer size of the school.

They continued up, Penn shifted his gaze from the school ahead, to Jules, he could make out an emblem featured prominently on the back of Jule's black and gold robe. It appeared to be a lions head and single paw, with exposed claws - With the letters WPA, transcribed beneath it – The schools acronym and official emblem, apparently.

They continued their taxing pace, until reaching the base of the stair case. Jules turned to Penn, "They have already begun the commencement in the grand hall." Jules said, waving to the massive building behind him, "I neglected to mention on our trip, that I have a prior engagement. I will be speaking within the hour, and I need to get there immediately. Penn, you will head up through the main entrance, and down to the hall. You can't miss it. Find a seat, listen to the commencement and I will see you afterwards."

With that, Jules followed the edge of the bottom stair, up to the side of the building. Feeling up the walls, with a double tap to a loosely placed brick, the wall before him, began to slide apart. With a final smile and wave, at Penn, Jules entered the crevasse with purpose in his steps, and it closed behind him.

Penn followed Jules direction, and with a deep breath, made his way up the stair case. Gripped the large suspended, metal handle bars, pushed with all his strength. The two large doors slid open, in front of him. As the doors were at a full gape open, he could hear the echos bouncing off the dark halls in front of him, of what sounded like a large gathering of people. That must be the commencement, Penn thought. With that, Penn took one last breath, and stepped through the entrance.


End file.
